


Santa Cas

by webcricket



Series: 24 Days of Christmas Advent Drabbles [7]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 11:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12957798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Prompt Item - Inappropriate Holiday Gift. Silly sexy fluff.





	Santa Cas

Chinese take-away containers litter the kitchenette counter. Cold kung pao chicken congeals on a forgotten plate – the green and red chili peppers are festive against the stark white background. _A Christmas Story_ streams on 24-hour marathon on the tiny television mounted in the corner of the room. Santa kicks a protesting Ralphie down the slide. Dean chuckles loud and slaps his knee. Sam cracks an amused grin, an airy laugh emerging from his throat. It’s funnier now than it was the last time, because on this re-watch, you and the brothers are halfway through a second bottle of scotch. Good scotch. The stuff Dean was hoarding in the trunk of the Impala for a special occasion. And what’s more special than a few wandering hunters celebrating yet another Christmas on the road in a dingy motel? You’re all alive. And together. Well, mostly together.

You glance at the phone clutched in your palm. Castiel promised he would be here, but that was two days ago, and a lot can happen to a wayward angel in two days. None of you have heard from him today. Dean pretends not to worry and chortles a little harder at the movie. Sam keeps his yapper shut, but those expressive hazel eyes of his cast sympathetic knowing glances in your direction every so often. Throwing back a swig of the scotch, hissing and catching your tongue between your teeth at the tingling burn, you close your eyes and pray.

A light knock on the door causes you to leap to your feet. Your hand is on the knob, fingers simultaneously unlocking the latch and twisting it open before Sam or Dean can even consider the notion of trying to stop you or let alone urge a little practical caution. Anyone could be on the other side.

It’s Castiel’s gleaming sapphire eyes that greet you, a smile instantly crinkling his features when you throw your arms around his neck. He nearly drops the pile of colorfully wrapped gifts he balances in one arm under the momentum of your affectionate attack.

“Cas!” you squeal. Your combination of enthusiasm, relief, and a smattering of kisses to his beaming unshaven face dislodges the red velvet Santa hat perching atop his dark locks.

“I’m sorry I was delayed,” he apologizes in a whisper. “Merry Christmas, honeybee.”

“S’okay, angel mine,” you sigh, burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his electric scent. “You’re here now.”

Returning your warm embrace with one arm, he kisses your temple. Pressing you to his chest, he lifts you easily at the waist to carry you forward into the room. “Sam, Dean,” he mumbles the gravelly greeting as you continue to hang off him. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Sam salutes the angel with a raised glass.

“Or should we say, Santa?” Dean is at the door, shutting out the draft of cold air sucking the heat from the room. He smirks, holding Cas’ lost cap up and twirling it between his fingers, asking, “Seriously?”

Cas squeezes you tight and then lets you to slip to the floor, keeping his arm around you. “It’s festive,” he earnestly offers in his defense.

“And adorable,” you add with a giggle.

Dean shrugs, striding forward to plunk the hat back on the angel’s head. “Santa Cas is comin’ to town,” Dean mockingly croons, giving the angel’s shoulder a welcoming wallop. The presents jostle precipitously and Dean lunges to save them. Snatching them up and stepping backward, he sees his name written on the topmost box. Green gaze glittering, he curiously picks up the box to shake it. “What do we have here?”

“I believe the tradition is to open gifts Christmas morning,” Cas points out. “As the options for last minute late night shopping on Christmas Eve were especially limited, it might be best to-”

“You know what I always like to say, it’s Christmas morning somewhere,” Dean interrupts, ignoring the angel’s caveat.

“You’ve never said that,” Sam pipes in. “Ever. You always say Christmas is stu-”

“-pendous. Stupendous.” Dean winks. “Heads up, Sammy!” He tosses a box Sam’s way. “And this one has your name on it, sweetheart,” he passes the remaining package to you. Wasting no time tearing into his own gift, bits of green striped paper flying in all directions, he produces two DVDs, reading the titles aloud, “ _Bang ‘Em High_ and _The Wild, Wild Breast_.”

Sam snorts.

Squinting, you can just make out the erotic covers of the cowboy-themed pornos.

“Uh, thanks man.” Dean cocks an amused brow. “I do enjoy a good Western.” Evidently Cas was not exaggerating when he said shopping options were lacking.

Sam opens his gift with greater care, more in fear of than in anticipation of what he will find therein. Peeling the paper aside, he reveals a scholarly appearing hardcover text entitled _The Hedonism Handbook: Mastering the Lost Arts of Leisure and Pleasure_.

“It’s a first edition,” Cas states proudly.

“Yeah, thanks Cas. This seems…um, interesting.” Sam smiles politely, nodding as he flips through the book.

Castiel’s focus falls upon you.

You get the distinct impression Cas did all of his shopping at an adult store and you’re not so certain you want to open a totally inappropriate holiday gift in front of the brothers. “But I-I didn’t get anything for you,” you stutter.

“That’s okay. I have everything I need right here.” The angel’s fingers squeeze the soft flesh of your hip, an encouraging small smile curving his mouth. “Go on, open it.”

You can’t resist the imploring glint of his expression. You stare down at the cheerful snowflake print of the paper – it’s white and blue, as deep blue as his eyes, and you wonder if he chose the pattern for that specific reason. Picking at the corner, you rip across the center and let the paper scatter to your feet. Lifting the lid off the box, you reach inside, fingertips touching thin silken fabric. You feel the heat of a pink blush rising to your cheeks as you unfold the delicate lacey baby blue sheer lingerie within for the brothers to see.

“Looks like someone made Santa’s naughty list this year,” Dean remarks with a whistle. Deciding there are no further jibes to be had and still plenty of liquid cheer to imbibe, he settles in front of the television, motioning for Sam to pour another round of drinks.

Castiel bends to kiss your flushed cheek. Nose nuzzling the heated rose-hued flesh, his lips ghost a tender trail of kisses to your ear, breath vibrating as he speaks, “Honeybee, I can’t wait for you to put that on so I can unwrap you.”


End file.
